No River Runs Through It

Mr Zuma is back in the news. That reminds me that I need to pay tribute to him for his contribution to geography. A letter I wrote to him:

Dear Mr Former President 

Now that time lies lightly or heavily upon your hands, I feel emboldened to make this request.

Ever since your continent-shaking geography lesson, I have been haunted by perplexing questions and shadowy suspicions. To quote the troubled prince: 'Sir, in my soul there was a kind of fighting that would not let me sleep.' You were president. You had at your disposal researchers, academics, the secret service and boundless resources. Do I believe you or my geography teachers? It's a no-brainer. If you say that all other continents can fit into ours, that's good enough for me. If you say that no river runs through it, why then, so it is. 

That tells me that our former colonial masters, not content with colonizing our lands, have perpetrated the same perfidy on our minds. Witness the monstrous lies in our geography text books and maps. Typically, Africa is shown at a fraction of her actual size. Anything to make us look small. 'Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery'. I'm with Bob Marley on that one (and Uncle Bob in his time). 

To that end, I plan to begin by re-drawing world maps as they should be. My cousin, Joe, is an artist of no mean talent. His works adorn many walls in our Germiston suburb (Philistines call it graffiti). He finishes serving his sentence for so-called 'repeated acts of vandalism' in a few days. We would like you, Mr Former President, to be our patron as we change the course of, if not history, at least a few rivers. 

In addition, please do consent to be an expert witness in my lawsuit against my geography teachers and the education establishment. I plan to sue for mental anguish caused, loss of opportunity and income and several other injuries I will have conjured up by the time you read this. To quote from that art classic 'Body Heat': "We'll sue those reckless b#%^ dry". 

Yours in the struggle for true, mind-liberating education.

Richard 

Robocop

Dear Minister Of Police

Some time ago I read with great consternation of a flight crew that was robbed in Sandton. What really alarmed me was that they had reportedly stopped at a robot when the robbery took place.

Sir, the South African public would dearly like to know what robots are doing on the streets of Sandton? Why do they not have traffic lights like every other suburb? Is this Sandton one upmanship? Even in Japan, where robots do everything short of marriage counselling, they are not allowed to run amok on the city streets. I find it most irresponsible on the part of the authorities. Have they not seen The Matrix? Do we not have enough trouble with roving bands of ruthless, lawless smokers and drinkers?

I suggest that your efficient police force takes a break from chasing down the bandits mentioned above. Perhaps an elite unit should be formed immediately. Call them Robocops. Surely, bands of marauding robots are a greater threat to our idyllic South African way of life. A friend has a theory that government has already been infiltrated. He says that some of the logic and behaviour in those quarters is neither normal nor human. He is a great kidder.

Sir, I trust that you will take as personal an interest in this alarming development as you do in cigarette and alcohol related shenanigans.

Please do keep us informed, with the same eloquent, crystal-clear flow of information that we've been fed during this difficult time.

Yours in the struggle against cyber-crime.

Richard

Road To Ruin

Dear Mr Mnangagwa

I read that you wanted to name ten roads after yourself. Nice round number and should cover most of the country. Also one way to ensure that you go down in history. Some people say they'd love to see you go down - period.

I imagine this does make giving and taking directions quite simple. Directions to the ruins would probably go something like:

"Take Mnangagwa Road out of Bulawayo and keep going north until you reach Mnangagwa Drive after about 100 kilometres.

 The road does get pretty bumpy but hang in there. You're bound to find the ruins - can't miss them with this new mnanagwarization of the road systems. About 60 Km down Mnangagwa Drive, look out for Mnangagwa Crescent on the left (where else?). Follow that for 70 kilometres, then watch for the on-ramp to Mnangagwa Highway. By this time, signs and pointers to the ruins will be just about everywhere.  Zimbabwean drivers don't really need the markers. It's a well known route. South Africans and others, though, need to read the signs quite carefully."

Mr Mnangagwa, I trust that you also have a statue or two in mind. I think you need to make sure that you at least keep pace with your predecessor.

Yours in the quest for immorality..., oops, immortality.

Richard 

The City's Finest

Dear Municipal Police

I must commend you on your professional pragmatic approach to policing. Apparently American officers love doughnuts. You have gone the healthy, nutritious route of KFC, if talk on the street is to be believed. Nothing like white meat to build up and maintain the strength and endurance needed to maintain Law and Order in our sometimes dangerous city. Particularly important now that dangerous illicit smokers and drinkers are on the loose on our streets. Any potential lawbreaker with an ounce of sense is bound to be far more respectful of a chicken licking officer than of a doughnut dunking one.

I have heard scurrilous talk of bribery and corruption, none of which I believe. Whenever I see you in your well tailored uniforms, an aura of professionalism emanates from you like a fine perfume. I myself have never been propositioned. A friend pointed out that I do not drive. That is merely splitting hairs.

Some complain that you are never around during what are euphemistically described as traffic jams. That is eminently sensible. One could get run over by an impatient taxi driver. Besides many jams occur on rainy days. Why spoil the creases on those immaculate uniforms. There will be traffic again tomorrow. I have seen you on occasion clearing a path through the chaos, lights flashing and sirens blaring. It made the waiting more bearable to know that you were on your way to what was probably an even worse traffic jam. A cynical friend said that you were rushing to get to KFC before closing. That's ridiculous. KFC doesn't close.

Another friend told this dubious tale of how he was stopped for a traffic violation. He accidentally passed over a R100 note with his licence.

"Tito speaks for me", he said, clearly just making conversation.
"Tito is whispering", replied the officer. "I can't hear him."

My friend then accidentally handed over a twin to the first note, which according to the officer raised the conversational volume to an acceptable level. This would have been a fine example of the keen wit of our City's finest were it not so implausible. My friend, an accountant, is given to flights of fancy,  so common to those of his profession.

May the force be with you.

Richard

Masterchef

Dear Ms Mokonyane

I am disappointed. 

Now that you have set the record straight at the Zondo Commission, my idea dies a sudden death.

I read your supposed Christmas grocery list some time ago in The Daily Sun, a publication for which I have a high regard. (After all, it's a special breed of journalist that has the courage to go after zombies, tokoloshes and other creatures that go 'eish' in the night. Anyone can do state capture).

As a committed carnivore, I thought then that you would be the ideal host for a TV cooking programme focusing on meat. I pictured you in a gaily coloured Bosasa apron, sipping on a diet coke from one of the 120 boxes. Smiling into the camera against a backdrop of rows of carcasses, you would, I imagined, begin with:

"Take ten chickens, two lambs and 100 Kg of beef. Saute two bags of onions, add a tub of garlic...."

And that would be the starter. One could almost smell the heavenly aromas wafting from your kitchen. So gripped was I by this vision, that I rushed out to buy R20 worth of award - winning Bapsfontein wors. 

I suppose there's now no point in my pursuing negotiations with the SABC. 

Yours in the quest for fine dining experiences. 

Richard 

To Pee Or Not To Pee

Dear Relevant Ministers 

With the current  focus on the twin evils of smoking and drinking, I must have missed something. When did drinking and urinating in public become legal in South Africa? I do understand that one tends to follow the other. Still, surely there ought to be some limits on where one may exercise these new rights. If that's what they are.

One morning, a fellow had several ladies choking on their breakfast magwinyas. He casually emptied his bladder outside a popular cafe. Were it not for my skills with the Heimlich manoeuvre, who knows what lurid headlines might have greeted us the next morning. 'Death Slash' and the like. 

That very afternoon, our taxi driver stopped near a park, leapt out and marked one of the trees. It was probably the stressful dash from Forways to town. And the encounters with the JMPD. 

Topping the day's bizarre sequence of events was an incident in Primrose. As I strolled through its tranquil streets on my way home, a fellow stepped out of his yard and urinated on the pavement. At that, in the words of Mr Pound, I was mildly abashed. Was there a queue in his house? Did the sight of my burly figure looming out of the East Rand fog loosen his bladder? Clearly, to pee or not to pee is no longer the question.

As I said to my neighbour Lawrence (sharing a Black Label and a joint on our street corner), miss one night of TV news and you are Rip van Winkle. I appeal to you ministers to please give us sufficient notice of changes to the laws. I'd hate to make a citizen's arrest on some bloke sniffing cocaine in Hassan's cafe, only to find that it became legal the pevious night.

Yours in the struggle to maintain law and order.

Richard 

Happy Returns

Dear SARS

I salute you with the traditional two-fingered salute of my people - the people burdened by taxes that seem to perpetually feed an enormous, black hole.

I'm sure that you are all very nice people. Under different circumstances we might have been firm friends. After all, even my best friends and closest family aren't as free with my wallet and pay cheque as you are. I've worked for you all my life and cannot even include that on my CV. 

Every time I think of you, the tears come to my eyes. Oops, that's a line from a song. I meant I'm reminded of the words of David, whenever I think of you. Not Cameron, the psalmist-king:

whither shall I flee from thy presence?

 If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there.

 If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea

......

thy right hand shall hold me.

 If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me; even the night shall be light about me....

Are you not treading on the sovereign territory of the Almighty? Incidentally, i don't think the part about heaven applies. Perhaps the other place.

You will soon once more bend your unwavering gaze on my tax return. I'm confident that your superb information- gathering systems will also sweep up the fortunes made on black market cigarettes and alcohol. I can assure you that those taxes will build many more hospitals, schools and houses. Isn't it just a matter of following the paper or cyber trails, as they do in the movies and books? I should think the same methods will apply to dodgy tenderpreneurs and the colourful assortment of food parcel and other thieves we breed in such profusion.

Many happy returns.

Richard